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Now, me, I’d stumble tryin’ to find one—prolly trip over my own boots! “Lord, Dolly,” I’d mutter, “you’re dumber’n a bag of hammers!” But if I did, I’d plop down, offer a sweet tea, and yap. Maybe ask, “Honey, what’s your miracle?”—y’know, like Theo searchin’ for somethin’ pure in that flick. Bet she’d laugh, say, “Ain’t no miracles here, sug!”